


A Mystery in Ruffles

by Logseman



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Tranquil, garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logseman/pseuds/Logseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan and Varric discuss his nickname-giving habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mystery in Ruffles

"Can I steal you from saving the world for a tiny minute, Lady Herald? I want to... make use of that fancy porch you put on the garden." The dwarf's tone had a somber trace which put Evelyn on guard. The scorching heat had become a constant of the summer, but she suspected Varric Tethras wasn't going to discuss the weather with her. 

"I could use a fresh drink. I will ask one of the Tranquils."

"Nah, don't bother them, we'll get the mead ourselves. You're not getting the airs of Madame du Fer at your old age, are you?"

Evelyn chuckled lightly as she wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Vivienne is not spoiled." A couple of looks from casual listeners and Varric's arched brow forced her to take a quick breath. "I... know what you mean, but no, really. You've been with her in our campaigns. She's as hardy as any of us. She's swallowed the same dirt as we have in the wastes and she fights as ferociously as the Iron Bull."

"I'm not arguing that, Herald. But the moment that Minaeve died with that damned cart our dear Big Enchanter got those Tranquils to serve in the castle. Some of them are serving her alone, I hear."

Evelyn shrugged and approached the Tranquil who was standing in the shade, close to one of the walls. "Excuse me, Ruen, could you bring us two bottles of mead to the porch? I'm certain that there are some crates..."

"Yes, madame Inquisitor" the middle-aged Tranquil replied in his monotone voice, with a clear Orlesian inflection. He produced a small list from one of his colorful overall's pockets, and checked it with paucity before wordlessly heading to one of the cellars.

As Evelyn and Varric opened the door to the porch and got a seat she looked around the tiny, all-white space.

"Minaeve told me they are better off when they have... structure. Things to do. Maybe Vivienne is being selfish, but if it works for them I have nothing to say. Don't tell me you don't avail yourself of your... associates."

"Hey there, wait a minute. My folks can yell at me, whine and moan at their leisure. In fact they do so every damned time I see them. These Tranquils... not so much, I'm afraid."

It wasn't the first time that Evelyn had this conversation with Varric. She braced herself for a heated debate, but it didn't come this time. A comfortable silence filled the place, as though entering the white porch had meant the end of all arguments.

Evelyn did not hide the fact that building the porch was something done on a whim, not hers but her lover's: the thin rationale was that diplomatic conversations and informal meetings like this could be better done in "such a lovely place where people can feel at ease". However, as time passed she did find herself drawn to the little structure, whose pristine white wood stood in contrast to the dark stone of the elven fortress of Skyhold. 

She liked that: while her own dormitory was huge and crammed with books, notes and a sense of gloom, the absurd little wooden structure with its all-white furniture ensemble had the flair of a little sanctuary, and she had actually started to use the porch more and more. While the Inquisitor hadn't declared it off-bounds, it was commonly understood that, since she herself had put it there on her own personal coin and (partially) with her own physical effort, it was meant for her and Josephine's personal use. Maybe Varric wanted to write about the construction? It had been filled with accidents and embarrassments which he could use as ammunition.

Ruen brought them the mead; Evelyn resisted the temptation to gulp down the refreshment and poured it herself on her cup. "Thank you, Ruen. You don't need to tend to us, so you can go." After seeing the man come back to the shade, her eyes turned to the most accomplished scion of the Tethras clan, if one heard him talk about himself. "What did you want to talk about? Is it about Adamant?"

The dwarf fidgeted with the mead bottle in his hand, not bothering to pour it but drinking straight from the bottle. "Nah, not this time. I'm not thrilled about having to besiege a huge fortress and risk the life of Hawke, but that's what life does to you. The fact is... I want to talk about the nicknames. I'm not sure if the people who get them are happy with them and I would want to avoid a knife in my chest while I sleep... they'd have to shave it!"

Evelyn chuckled rather loudly. "Shouldn't you talk to them instead? Or would you also ignore them like... when I asked you not to call me Herald? Tsk tsk tsk." The exaggerated gesture took off some bite of the remark, which mentioned one of the biggest gripes of Evelyn.

"Heh. I know I... should, but it's hard to get to talk to them all. You know them all and you know how they take them. I'm sure they tell you things they wouldn't say to me. Well, maybe not Seeker. She wears her heart on her sleeve."

"But couldn't you just... stop calling them by those names?"

"No, not really. I can't choose those names either. People earn them, whether it's before I meet them or afterwards."

"But is there no rhyme or reason to them? The way you say it it's like they pop up at random in your head. I mean... Ruffles, really?"

The slightest blush covered Varric's cheeks. "I know your sweetheart doesn't really like hers. I tried "scribbles", but it didn't sound 100% right in my head... which is where it has to sound right." 

"So how does Ruffles sound right?"

"Are you kidding? I know you know her in every possible state of dress and undress... " A swift kick landed on his knee. "OUCH! Hey, that was mean!"

"Josephine's states of undress are not your business. It was meant for the shin though, sorry about the knee." Evelyn's smirk did loudly deny her words.

Wincing from the pain, he continued. "I meant that you know her better, and Nightingale too, but you're all used to the noble games and postures. I should be, as well, but I threw away the noble golden pin quickly." He took another swig of the mead "For the rest of us she's a sort of... wall, an enigma. An overdressed, impeccably coiffed wall of mystery. A mystery in ruffles, if you please. So, Ruffles."

"Well, that's clever. Good save."

"There's also the fact that I like short names. I've noticed that they're all one or two syllables if I think of the names myself. You're a noble, right? How many names do you have besides your own? I'm not sure how you can even remember them."

"Maybe I don't, and that's why I'm here." The quip elicited a laugh from her partner. "But if it's possible at all I'd like to do better than Herald of Andraste. It sounds so hideously stuffy, and it's so wrong to even think about. I guess I want a to carve a name for myself, one I can be proud of."

"Time will tell, Inquisitor. Time will tell." Varric finished the bottle and left it on the table.


End file.
